


Hockey Night in Metropolis

by Northern_Star



Category: Smallville
Genre: Hockey, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 22:20:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northern_Star/pseuds/Northern_Star
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark is totally clueless about hockey, and it shows, but he's more than willing to sit through a game if it means spending the evening with Lex...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hockey Night in Metropolis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ctbn60](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ctbn60/gifts).



> Written as comment fic, and I wasn't sure I was going to post this, but then I decided _why not?_ , so here you go...

When Lex told him he had a couple of tickets for the game between the Metropolis Mammoths and the Gotham Blades, Clark's initial reaction was a confused frown. 

" _Who_? Against _what_?"

"The Mammoths," Lex replied in a condescending tone, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. "Against the Blades. Hockey, Clark. I trust you've heard of the concept?"

"Oh, sure, of course, yeah, hockey," Clark stuttered in response. Obviously, he'd heard of hockey — he wasn't _quite_ that much of a country bumpkin — and the team names sounded somewhat familiar, now that he thought about it, but he'd never been to a game and wasn't really very interested in the sport at all. Football was much more his style.

"Well?" Lex impatiently asked. "Do you want to come or not?"

"Yeah, yeah, sounds like fun!" said Clark, forcing a smile on his face which he hoped would look at least a little genuine. He was far from certain he'd enjoy going to the game, but on the other hand, he was absolutely sure he'd enjoy spending time with Lex, making this a good trade-off no matter what.

That's how Clark found himself sitting in the lower bowl section of the arena, later that evening, surrounded by die-hard Mammoths fans wearing replicas of the team's jersey and some seriously scary-looking face-paint. 

"We need a win tonight if we're to have any hope of making playoffs," Lex explained.

"Oh, I see," Clark replied, though he didn't really see at all, truth be told. He tossed a handful of popcorn in his mouth, preferring to munch happily on the treat than to prove how clueless he really was.

"No, no, no!" Lex immediately complained, batting Clark's hand away from the bag of popcorn. "You're not supposed to _eat it_!"

"I'm not?" Clark asked, his mouth still full of half-chewed kernels. 

Lex rolled his eyes. "I told you before. It's not for eating, it's for throwing. When our team scores."

"Oh. Right."

Clark shrugged. He was pretty sure that no, he hadn't been told, but then again the information might have gotten lost somewhere in-between explanations of concepts such as face-offs, offside and icing, fore-checking, poke-checking and cross-checking — one of which was a punishable offense, though Clark would have been hard-pressed to say which.

They were halfway through the third period and the game was still tied, zero-zero. So far, this was possibly the longest and most boring sporting event in the world. Perhaps even in all of history. 

Players chased after the puck in one direction, rammed into opponents when they reached the boards, then started all over in the other direction. Sometimes they shot the puck at the net and sometimes the goaltenders were able to catch it in their mitt like baseball players. 

Referees would whistle and stop play for reasons Clark never really understood — possibly just out of spite, he thought, actually — and players sometimes got sent to the penalty box to ponder over their sins for a while. And every single time a referee whistled, the officials stopped the clock, meaning that a 20-minute period really lasted about twice that long.

Considering the more-than-probable overtime that would be added on to regulation time, and the potential shootout — because it was apparently unthinkable that this contest might end in a tie — this game could very well go on forever!

Clark could practically _see_ his popcorn slowly going stale in the bag.

But Clark could deal with being bored — especially with Lex leaning in closer to explain game concepts to him every so often — but what he found absolutely unbearable were all the comments Lex kept making about the players.

Lex seemed to know several of these guys. Very well, apparently. Possibly a little _too_ well, as far as Clark was concerned... Of course, Lex knew a lot of people; he was, after all, a very rich, and very prominent member of the community. But the way he spoke of these guys? Well, it looked like maybe Lex had some sort of a hockey-player kink. He knew which ones had the best legs and the greatest hands, and despite them wearing several layers of protective equipment, a helmet and a visor, Lex knew precisely which ones were the most beautiful. It was maddening!

By the time the game finally ended — one-zero for the Mammoths, with a goal scored at 0:25 of the overtime period by some guy who may or may not have been named "Rupper" — Clark was all but convinced that unless he learned how to play hockey himself, Lex would never find him interesting enough. At least not in the way Clark wanted Lex to find him interesting...

*~*~*

_The next day..._

Clark picked himself up from the cold, icy surface and tried to stand up again for the umpteenth time. He'd fallen so many times he was sure his entire lower body would be black and blue by now, had it not been for the fact that he was — luckily — invulnerable.

"How on earth do people manage to stand up on these things?" he asked out loud, though there was no one around to hear him.

Sighing, he dusted off his jacket then once more he pushed off with one skate and hoped this time he'd manage to move forward more than half an inch before crashing down again. 

Skating would have been so much easier to learn, he thought, if only he'd been able to fly! The way he was progressing now, there was no way he'd be able to skate even remotely well enough to attend the hockey clinic he'd signed up for.

He'd managed to stand upright while actually moving forward for almost two full minutes, when his left skate caught in a small crack in the ice, and Clark was sent flying again, landing ungracefully on his ass. In the distance, he heard cat calls and clapping. 

"You know," said Lex as he walked up to Clark, "you should have been an acrobat..."

Red-faced and just about mortified to have been seen just now, Clark quickly pulled himself back up. "What are you doing here?" he stuttered as he attempted to keep his balance - somehow.

"I was looking for you... Chloe told me I'd find you here." Lex gave Clark a very obvious once-over. "What _are_ you doing, anyway?"

"Teaching myself to skate," said Clark, crossing his arms over his chest defensively, "so I can learn to play hockey."

Lex stared at him a moment, an eyebrow cocked in disbelief. "Why, Clark Kent...if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to impress me."

Surprise caused Clark to suck in a sharp break, on which he nearly choked. "Why?" he asked, coughing, "Is it working?"

"Not the way you're doing it," Lex replied, chuckling and shaking his head. "I could teach you, though."

"You? You know how to play?"

"Of course I do!" Lex immediately answered. "I was the best two-way defenseman on my team when I played triple-A varsity in high school."

"I have no idea what any of that means," Clark admitted after a moment, his cheeks once more taking on a deeper shade of red.

"I don't doubt that," Lex chuckled. He patted Clark on the arm. "We'll start by teaching you how to skate properly, and then maybe if you're nice I'll show you a few of my best moves."

"I'm ready when you are," said Clark resolutely. He wasn't completely sure he _was_ , but damned if he was going to turn down an opportunity to spend the afternoon with Lex.

"Tomorrow," Lex said, shaking his head. "I can't teach you much of anything without having skates on, and also possibly a couple hockey sticks and pucks. Besides... right now, I need you for something else, so let's get out of here."

"Oh... okay," Clark replied, a little deflated. 

Lex turned and headed away, and Clark meant to follow, but as he tried to put one foot in front of the other, he stumbled, gasping as he barely caught his balance, avoiding another trip downward. Lex laughed, apparently knowing even before he looked what was happening.

"I guess we'll need a chair, too..." Lex chuckled, as he wrapped an arm around Clark's back to help him stand. "Come on, farmboy, let's get you off the ice."

Clark blushed and mumbled a thank you, leaning heavily on Lex for support, secretly relishing the temporary closeness and hoping that leaning to skate would require _several_ lessons...

> End.


End file.
